


A Lady’s Duty

by Hexlorde



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, Gen, Jon is getting adopted whether he wants to be or not, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sansa Stark is a Good Mother, Sansa Stark is a Good Sibling, kind of, she’ll get there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29257875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexlorde/pseuds/Hexlorde
Summary: Sansa Stark dreams of becoming a perfect Lady, so when she realizes that there is a sizable gap in her knowledge she sets out to fill it. Cue the overheard conversations, astounding leaps of logic, and a very confused half-brother.This is pure self-indulgence, but I just wanted to write something where Sansa decides that she needs to learn how to be a mother and Jon ends up being her training dummy.
Relationships: Jon Snow & Sansa Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	1. An Oversight

**Author's Note:**

> Sansa notices an egregious oversight and hatches a plan.

It was a fact known throughout Winterfell that Sansa Stark idolized her mother, the Southron Lady that made a home amongst the wolves. It necessarily followed that Sansa would do everything in her power to become a Proper Lady, just like her beloved mother. The young girl took to this task with glee (not outwardly shown, of course. That would be unladylike) and Catelyn was glad to have at least one child that would not grow up a barbarian. 

The only issue, little Sansa decided, was that parts of her education were lacking. She was far above other girls her age when it came to sewing and dancing, as was to be expected, and no matter what Theon Greyjoy might claim she was perfectly capable of handling sheets of sums and piles of correspondence. She had proven those skills at feasts and dances throughout the years. Yet there was a distinct hole in her knowledge, one that she would much rather fill before it was too late.

Despite all of her pleading, Sansa’s mother had never seen fit to teach her how to be a mother. The woman, normally so reasonable and understanding, had simply laughed every time Sansa asked how to be a mother. “You have quite some time before you have to worry about that,” her mother said and ignored her when she tried to explain that she needed to know now. 

It had started as a stray thought as she drifted off to sleep, that Lady Stark (Mama, a soft voice in the back of her head whispered) must be a very good mother to raise and love so many children. The next day had nearly wiped that thought away, and she would have forgotten all about it had she not seen Theon joking with a few of his cruder friends. The little Lady would have strode by as quickly as possible had the wind not carried a snatch of conversation her way. “-it’s a shame she’s got so many wild brats running around. Ruins the whole ‘lady of mystery’ act she’s got going-“

Sansa did not understand most of what they talked about then, but the important bit had stuck with her. Being a good mother was an essential part of being a Lady, and as far as she knew Lady Stark had not yet prepared her. How could this oversight have happened? Santa had been promised by her mother and her Septa that she would be the perfect Lady, yet here was a subject that they had completely ignored! 

After being rejected for weeks, Sansa decided to take matters into her own hands. Lady Catelyn and Septa Mordane would not help her, so she would find other ways to learn. At first, she trailed behind other Noble Ladies, but they would deposit her in the care of the nearest guard as soon as they realized she was following them. Next she watched the servants, but they seemed to raise their children as one overly-large family. It was sweet, in a common sort of way, but not the model Sansa needed.

She found her best advice amongst the smallfolk of Wintertown. A woman washing linens while instructing her children on how to weave a basket noticed Sansa’s Tully blue eyes watching and beckoned the girl over. “My lady, if I may ask what has caught your eye? I would hardly expect someone like me would interest you much.”

Sansa, still a bit red from being caught, puffed out her chest as she said “You seem to be a good mother, despite your labor. I want to know how that is, and how those principles can be applied to my studies.”

The woman threw her head back and laughed, exposing a crudely made necklace of twine. Sansa found her eyes catching on it, wondering whose hands had made it. It must have been someone dear, for the woman to wear such an ugly thing. Then the woman lowered her head, her eyes meeting Sansa’s. “You’re getting started early, aren’t you? Nevermind that, I guess every girl gets curious. Problem is you won’t be able to understand until you’ve been a mother yourself, you hear me?” Something changed in the woman’s eyes as she spoke, something that seemed almost wistful. “There were so many things I’de wished I’d known, things I had no idea could have happened. Eventually I realized that I wouldn’t have listened if someone had told me, and that I’d be better served getting ready for the next thing that was gonna surprise me.”

Santa had been pulled away then, but the washerwoman’s words stayed with her. The little Lady tossed and turned at night, trying to puzzle out a solution. She needed to learn how to be a mother before she bore children of her own, but she could not learn without being a mother. It made little sense, but Sansa still mulled it over every chance she got. She could offer to help teach some of the servant’s children their letters and such, but then she would be interacting with them for a short time before they returned to their parents. It would be best if she could find a younger child with no parents to call them home at the end of the day, but every child at Winterfell had someone to leave her for. Even Theon had parents, though they were across the sea.

Then, one restless night, a thought struck her; Jon Snow, her half-brother, had no one to claim him. Their father had little time for the boy, and Lady Catelyn had neither the time nor desire. He may be a bastard, born of lesser blood and morals than his siblings, but surely that only meant that she would need to be firm with him. It may even make up for the four years he had on her.

Sansa snuggled into her furs, finally content with her plan. She would learn how to be a good mother, and in doing so give Jon a great favor. As her eyes drifted closed she smiled, imagining the look on her mother’s face when she realized that her little Lady had started the last part of her studies years ahead of her peers. She would like to see other ladies say that they had learned how to be a mother at nine years!


	2. The Nameday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa knows she has to be careful with this as with her needlework, if not more. Jon may be a bastard, but he is her responsibility now and she will not fail in her duties.

Sansa knew that her furrowed brow might earn her wrinkles sooner rather than later, but she could not help it. It had been almost a moon since she determined her course and she had yet to put her plan into action. She could have excused the first week or so, for those were spent preparing for her new child. She could still remember when Bran and Rickon were naught but bumps in their mother’s belly, and even then the whole castle was abuzz getting everything ready. It was a favorable trait for a mother to be prepared for her babe.

This had long passed favorable though. Every morning she promised herself that today would be the day she approached Jon and brought him under her wing, but every time she thought of approaching him Lady Catelyn’s voice would whisper in her mind “He is naught but a bastard, and only grief can come of him. Stay away, for your own sake!”

Sansa loved her mother dearly, but for the first time she was starting to wonder if it was wise to always listen to her words of caution. What sort of mother could not go near their child?

She sighed and tried to put those thoughts out of her mind. Her mother was good and just, a proper Lady of Winterfell. It would do her no good to question those teachings now, especially when she had work to do. Arya had scampered off somewhere and left her alone with the sewing, and she wanted to make sure every stitch was perfect.

“No, I won’t! You can’t make me sit in a corner all day!”

Speaking of the little demon, Arya came tearing around the corner. Her dress was ripped and muddied, her hair loose from its braids and covered in dust, and her teeth bared in a snarl.

In essence, her little sister was as far from a Lady as possible.

Sansa sighed again and stared at her needlework, hoping against hope that threads of blue and white would drown out her sister’s ravings. Of course she would have no such luck, as Arya’s shrieks quickly grew loud enough to wake every Stark in the crypts.

“I don’t care about silly needles and embroidery! It’s stupid, and I’d rather help Master Luwin in the library than waste my time with it!”

Poor Septa Mordane appeared then, her dress askew and her face harried. “Surely you cannot mean that, you foolish girl. Why, you would soon grow bored enough to climb the shelves!”

The hallway echoed with the sound of a little boot hitting stone. “Do too! At least then I could learn about great heroes and battles, and kings who appeared from hiding and warrior women who changed their names-“

“Absolutely not, you wild thing! No young lady should seek to fill her head with such things.”

Arya bolted off after that, leaving Septa to chase after her. Sansa slumped in relief and continued stitching, only to pause with her needle halfway through the fabric. What was that her sister had said about changing names?

Contrary to popular belief, Sansa did listen to Old Nan’s tales. She simply did not put much stock in stories passed down by wild folk who were so hesitant to count themselves as part of the Seven Kingdoms. However, there was one that might finally be of some use: there was supposedly a great warrior who was given a terrible name by an equally great rival. The warrior was kind, and just, but everywhere he turned the people whispered that his name belonged to a vile creature. In the end, the good warrior had been reviled because of an unfortunate name.

What if that was the case with Jon? Mother and Septa may only refer to him as “the boy” and “the bastard,” but Sansa always knew they were talking about Jon. So what if he was not Jon Snow anymore?

* * *

There were days when Jon wished that he had been cast aside by his father. It might have been a strange wish, but the boy felt that it may have been kinder to leave him to his fate. To remove any hope that he could become anything other than a bastard. Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so much when that hope was crushed again and again.

Today was one of those days. It had started out well enough, even if Lady Stark had spent a bit more time than usual glaring at him over breakfast. Robb had even promised to help him find the best of the unclaimed swords so he could have one of his own.

They had been digging through the armory when Lady Stark had come in and sent Robb away to his lessons. As soon as the taller boy was out of sight she had turned on Jon and lectured him on stealing time from the trueborn son. When he tried to argue that Robb had been the one to suggest finding a sword the Lady’s anger had only grown. She had sent him to clear away debris that had fallen from the Broken Tower, and threatened to withhold dinner should he take too long.

Jon had stopped protesting after that. There was no point in making things worse, and he was already regretting pushing Lady Stark that far. His hands were aching from the cold and rough stone, and the sun looked close to setting. Was demanding Robb’s attention really worth this?

His own attention was caught by a flash of red in the corner of his vision. When he straightened his protesting back he saw that Sansa was standing a short ways away from him, her tiny brow furrowed as she stared at him. He pushed the ache away and stood up straight, his hands falling to his sides. He loved his half-sister, but he doubted she felt anything close to affection for him. He couldn’t blame her, not when her Lady Mother was always breathing down her neck and ensuring that she was behaving like a proper lady, but that didn’t mean he felt comfortable around her.

It didn’t help that the girl had been… weird, lately. There was no nicer way to put it. It seemed as if every time he turned around she was there, blue eyes piercing his soul. Sometimes he wondered if she could see the wickedness that came with his blood. If she could somehow sense the taint from their father’s actions.

He shook himself. There was no point in thinking like that, especially when Sansa was coming closer. Better to meet whatever challenge she presented head-on, rather than worry about what-ifs.

The girl strode across the grounds with a grace that belied her youth. Honestly, Jon was impressed that she managed to not trip, even if he had cleared a good portion of debris away. Perhaps her Lady Mother’s instruction had been of some practical use after all.

Any awe he felt was swept away when he realized that Sansa had come closer than she had since she had learned what “bastard” meant, and was coming closer still. The gait which had once appeared graceful now appeared full of menace. Her southern style dress became as ominous as a stormcloud. And those eyes, those Tully blue eyes, would not leave his face! Had she heard what had happened earlier? Did she decide that his punishment was not harsh enough? What bitter venom had she concocted for him?

Sansa stopped a scant foot away from him, her head tilted up to meet his eyes. Her braids swished across her back as she tilted her head to the side, the ice behind her eyes melting a fraction. Before he could say anything she thrust a bundle of cloth toward him. “Take these. If you continue to work like this you will not be able to hold your spoon at dinner, much less a sword tomorrow.”

Jon blinked. That was certainly not what he was expecting to hear, both in words and tone. When was the last time he heard anything but disdain from her lips?

His head was still spinning when his little half-sister pressed the bundle against his aching hands. The ice melted a bit more as Sansa’s lips quirked. “Don’t you know that it is rude to not accept a gift? I made these expecting you to make good use of them.”

It was only instinct that had his fingers curling around whatever she had pushed against them. “I- ah- Thank you, my lady,” he stuttered. Later he might regret calling her that, but all she did was nod.

“You’re welcome. Please, let me know if they do not fit,” she said with a slight smile. “I fear I have not been as attentive to your measurements as I should have. Good evening.”

With that she spun on her heel and strode away, leaving Jon to gape at her shrinking form. She was long gone by the time he shook himself from his stupor and looked at what she had given him. It was a soft bundle, wrapped in Stark-grey cloth. With trembling hands he unwrapped it, gasping as it fell away to reveal soft deerskin gloves. Embroidered wolves and Weirwood leaves danced around the edges, showcasing both her careful stitches and an embroidered name. Aching fingers brushed over soft thread, feeling every letter in a name too long to be his own

What the fuck had happened to Sansa, and why was her newfound insanity focused on him?

* * *

Sansa felt like she was floating as she returned to her chambers. She had finally approached her new child, and in the process discovered a void that she could fill. Before she had taken on her new responsibilities she never would have questioned Mother’s decision to assign the boy extra chores as punishment, but seeing those blistered hands… It made her gut twinge at the thought of disagreeing with her mother, but was her current course not designed to fill a gap Lady Catelyn had left?

Disagreements aside, Sansa was glad that she had found a way to approach the boy. She very well might give Arya some trinket or token in thanks for her inadvertent help. Why, even the idea of using Valyrian came from her sister’s fancies!

She could not stop beaming, even when Father commented on her unusually joyful mood. How could she be anything but happy when it was her little Rinahon’s first nameday?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyy, we got to see a bit from Jon! Also, the first time of many that Sansa overhears something and runs with it.
> 
> I came up with Jon’s new name by going to an English-to-Valyrian translator (https://lingojam.com/EnglishtoValyrianTranslator) and mashing together “child” and “mine,” so I doubt it fits into any canon naming conventions. I just wanted something unique that had a relevant meaning ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
